


How Steve Rogers Met The One

by shesubmarines



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Halloween, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, honestly this will involve like so many tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesubmarines/pseuds/shesubmarines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A How I Met Your Mother AU, featuring: "sandwiches", superhero halloween costumes, and Star Wars references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to carissa (twitter user @gayvenger) because this wouldnt be a thing without them!  
> also thanks to leeanna (@preserumgays) for the feedback xox
> 
> TW: drugs (weed) in the first chapter
> 
> also i accidentally posted this story twice, sorry for anyone who bookmarked the other one!

**September 2022**

**You know how couples tend to have very romantic first meetings; eyes meeting across the room filled with strangers and knowing instantly that the person on the other end is your one true love?**

**This isn’t one of those stories.**

**“No, but it’s equally swoon-worthy,” Tony sighs dreamily. “Destiny, and all that rot.”**

**“I have to say I agree,” says Peggy.**

**To get a better understanding of how the story goes, we should start from the very beginning and go chronologically from there. Not from Tony, not from Sharon and not even from Peggy—though they all play a huge part in this story—but from Sam and Natasha.**

**It all started on Welcome Day.**

* * *

 

 

**HOW STEVE ROGERS MET SAM WILSON**

**Welcome Day, 2010**

Steve was just lying on one of the beds—he decided not to pick a bed without consulting his roommate and call one his, because well, it just wouldn’t be fair. He hadn’t even unpacked. His bags and boxes were still on the floor when he heard a muffled voice through the door. “Can I get a little help here, please?”

 

Steve quickly rose to his feet, slightly anxious to meet his new roommate. He was a single child and while he always had his heart in the right place and moral compass pointed to the right direction, he hadn’t always had the best time socializing. He grew up short and skinny with anger that belied his size and penchant for getting in trouble with the bullies. That changed soon in high school, when he hit his growth spurt and shot up like a tree and learned to rein in his quick temper.

 

The guy knocking on the door was hidden behind a tall stack of boxes. Only his arms and legs were visible behind the boxes, and Steve wondered how the guy found his way into the right room. The guy shifted the boxes to one muscled arm that trembled slightly from exertion to free the other hand and offered it up to Steve.

 

“Sam Wilson, psych major. Could you take off the top box, please? Man, these things are heavy.”

 

Steve took the proffered hand and shook it firmly before taking the top box with a grunt. It _was_ heavy.

 

With the top box out of the way, Steve could get a good look of the man behind them—tall and handsome with an easy, friendly grin. His hair was cropped close to his scalp—

 

**“Are you saying that he’s been wearing this haircut for ten years?” Sharon demands. She sounds somewhat disappointed. “What, no wild, college boy haircut? No ill advised hair dyeing in wild colors or mohawks, at the very least?”**

**“Nope,” Sam replies easily. “You know I’ve always been the sensible type.”**

**“Unlike our pal Steve Rogers here,” Bucky butts in. “Remember that time when he got highlights—"**

**“No!” Steve interrupts loudly. Bucky chortles. “Do you want me to continue the story or not?”**

**“Highlights?” Sharon laughs. “You have to tell me about that one day.”**

**“No, he won’t,”**

**“Fine, be a killjoy,”**

**Steve never has the ability to resist puppy dog eyes. When he finds himself on the receiving end from the puppy dog eyes from the various members of the group scattered around the room, he wavers. “Okay, we’ll get to that. Where were we? Ah, right, introductions.”**

 

“Steve Rogers. Art history and classics.” He set the box down on top one of his own. “The hell did you put in that box?”

 

“Books and some décor,” Sam said easily. He set his boxes with a loud thud. “Have you picked a bed? I’m fine with whichever.”

 

“Haven’t, actually.” Now that the introduction was out of the way, Steve was not sure what to say. “Figured it wouldn’t be fair.”

 

“Huh,” Sam said. He took a slow look around the room, noting the bare walls and the boxes littering the floor. “Flip a coin?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Sure.”

 

He joined Sam in taking a good look of their shared room. It was nice, he supposed, with the medium-sized window between the beds just big enough to let natural light in and keep the room—already cramped with boxes and such—from feeling claustrophobic, and simple, wooden furniture in the same shade of brown as the hardwood floor. Each half of the room was a splitting image of the other half, with its identical bed, identical desk and even the identical cupboard. The walls were off-white and the paint was chipped in a corner.

 

Sam produced a coin from the back pocket of his jeans. “Heads, you get the one near the door. Tails, I do.” He flipped the coin with an easy, practiced flick of his thumb and it landed _right in the middle_.

 

“Whoa, dude.” Sam whispered in awe. They exchanged an astonished wild-eyed look. This felt like a good start to the university life.

 

“I’ve never seen something like this before,”

 

“Neither have I,” Steve reached to his back pocket for his phone. “I—“

 

The coin fell, landing on its tail, to the chorus of disappointed “aww,” from both of them.

 

Sam clapped his hands together. “Okay, now that’s settled,” He began shuffling his boxes towards the bed further from the window as Steve shuffled his towards the one nearer to the door. It didn’t take a lot of shuffling.

 

“We should probably start unpacking,” Steve suggested. He reluctantly moved towards one of the bigger boxes near the foot of the bed, stealing looks at Sam all the while.

 

Sam grinned, noticing already what Steve is trying to signal him. “Or we could be good neighbors and go across the hall to meet people,”

 

Steve dropped the box he half lifted and straightens with a smile. He liked Sam already. “Or that.”

****

****

 

**HOW SAM WILSON MET NATASHA ROMANOFF (AND PROCEEDED TO DECIDE TO ADOPT STEVE ROGERS AS THEIR VERY OWN PADAWAN)**

“Maybe they’re busy unpacking,” Steve said the moment he stepped out the door. Other doors in the hallways were open to various degrees, with boxes in front of some doors and bags on the others.

 

“Come on, Rogers, don’t be shy,” Sam tugged his arm towards the door right across the hall. He knocked gingerly.

 

The door opened to reveal a gorgeous woman, impeccably dressed in a leather jacket and skinny jeans with boots that look like they could hide at least two knives. Her dark brown hair was secure in its plait. She studied them with green eyes that were slightly tinged with red.

 

“You’re not the Dean,” She enunciated slowly, nodding slightly as if to herself. The corners of her lips quirked infinitesimally upwards. Steve assumed that she looked amused but also satisfied. It was kind of hard to tell. “It’s not the Dean,” She repeated louder, turning away from the door, presumably to her roommate.

 

“Who is it?” A feminine voice said from the room, followed by a hushed giggle.

 

The woman on the door squinted at them. “Who are you?”

 

“We live right across the hall,” Sam said amiably. “Thought we could make some new friends before the academic year officially kicks off.”

 

Steve sniffed the air suspiciously. “Oh my god,” His eyes widened as he recognized the smell and he lowered his voice by two octaves. “Are you—uh, eating a sandwich?”

 

“Yeah,” The voice from inside the room answered. “Tell them to come in, Nat, don’t be rude.” The voice giggled, louder this time. “There is enough _sandwich_ for everybody.”

 

The woman on the door—Nat, according to the voice inside the room, threw a withering glare to the source of the voice. The moment her back was turned on them, Sam mouthed _“Sandwich?”_ disbelievingly to Steve, with an amused roll of his eyes.

 

Nat turned to face them again, just as Steve finished muttering a hushed _shut up_ to Sam, who merely snorted. She narrowed her eyes at them again, “Only if you’re cool.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Sam addressed her with what he assumed is his brightest, most charming grin. “Definitely.”

 

Steve opened his mouth, a protest half-formed on his lips. Sam nudged him with a sharp elbow. Honestly, that man had muscular arms, how is it that his elbow can be that pointy? He ended up nodding along gamely.

 

Apparently, Sam’s easy grin and infectious charm were enough to convince Nat as she nodded, opening the door wider to let them in. Her room was exactly like theirs, with its bare walls and matching wooden furniture, but their boxes were stacked more neatly close to the walls to make some empty space between their beds.

 

“I’m Sam.” Sam stretched out a hand that Nat eyed for a few moments before shaking. Not that Steve could fault her. Sam’s arms were very nice.

 

**“I get it, his arms were nice,” Bucky sniffs.**

 

**"Still are," Sam said, flexing his arms.**

**Steve laughs. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”**

**Half the people inside of the room cooed.**

 

“Sam Wilson. Psych major and the cool one in the room across the hall.”

 

“Natasha Romanoff, Russian and Slavic Studies major.”

 

Sam whistled, impressed. “Speak any Russian?”

 

“конечно.” She replied. Steve didn’t know Russian other than the phrases he picked up watching secret agents type action films, but that one Russian word flowed naturally from Natasha’s mouth, not accented American (as far as he knew). “That’s Maria. She’s studying Law.” She gestured to the woman sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, who waved brightly at them. Without that bright smile, she would look impossibly austere, with her dark button down shirt and hair tucked in a neat bun without a strand out of place.

 

“Hi, I’m Maria,” She said without getting up. She casually took another bite of her sandwich, keeping her eyes trained on them.

 

“And here we have Steve Rogers, art major,” Sam nudged Steve forward. “I think he’s a bit shy.”

 

Sam and Steve had known each other for approximately _fifteen minutes._

 

“I thought you said you were cool,” Natasha said, slightly accusingly.

 

Steve decidedly did not bristle. “I am quite cool,”

 

Natasha snorted, but she sounded amused. “Shut up, Rogers, nobody says ‘quite’,” She beckoned them over to sit down on the floor, where Maria produced another sandwich, waving them and passing them over to Natasha without the slightest hesitation. Steve wouldn’t have pegged her to be the type to hide so many sandwiches.

 

While Steve was otherwise occupied with contemplating the pros and cons of eating the sandwich, Sam obviously had no such reservations and plops on the floor to join Natasha and Maria.

 

“Come on, man, live a little,” Sam beckoned over. “You said you were _quite cool._ ”

 

 _What the hell_ , Steve thought to himself and joined the group. He knew some friends back in high school who did it on a regular basis, and they turned up okay, thus far. Anyway, wasn’t it practically a requirement for any aspiring artist to eat so much sandwich they can’t walk at least once?

 

He reached an open hand, steeling his resolve. “Pass me the sandwich.”

 

Sam cheered a little.

 

 **“This Stevie Rogers?”** **Tony gawks. “Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers who helps old people cross the street and actually climbed a tree one time to get a cat down, beacon of hope and all things good and sweet Steve Rogers? Eating a sandwich?”**

**“One and the same,” Sam chuckles.**

**“I keep telling you that he’s not as wholesome and innocent as everyone always thinks he is,” Bucky’s voice pipes from the kitchen. “You should tell them that one time with you, me, and the—“**

**“Okay!” Steve cuts in, flustered. He’s beginning to sense a pattern for the rest of the night here.**

**“Or that time when we did it in—“**

**“Oh my god,” Steve says prayerfully. “Please stop talking.”**

**“Do continue talking,” Sharon props her head on a hand, head tilted with curiosity with mischief glinting in her eyes. “We all want to hear this, I think,”**

**“Yes, we do!” Clint supplies, ever so helpful.**

**“No, we don’t,” Steve can feel his cheeks heating.**

**“It wasn’t the only time he ate it, either.” Nat whispers loudly the room conspiratorially. “There was that time at the Halloween party—“**

**“Oh, and also that time right after we moved into our first apartment after college—“**

**“Traitors,” Steve mutters at both Nat and Sam, but his voice was drowned by the hoots and oohs that filled the room. “Back to Welcome Day, 2010—“**

****

Before long, Sam found himself singing and Nat tapping her carefully manicured nails on the hard floor in rhythm to his singing. Maria gave her best shot at beat-boxing, which sounded really good at the time, unlike the spluttering Steve managed to achieve at his first attempt at beat-boxing but maybe their brains were becoming addled with the amount of sandwich they consumed. Those were really good sandwiches. Steve nodded along to the flowing rhythm, lost in the music and thinking profoundly about the finer aspects of life.

 

“Damn, this is some really good sandwich,” Sam's voice was filled with awe, bordering on reverence. Steve, Natasha and Maria all nodded their assent.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how he procured himself brush and watercolor and who grabbed his sketchbook from across the room, but when he flicked for an empty page on his sketchbook three days later, he found himself staring at a gorgeous painting, done in vivid reds and blue. The way the colors blend and the lines bleed into each other was—there was no other way to say it—very aesthetically pleasing. And it wasn’t done in his usual style, either. He wouldn’t have believed it if anybody said that he was the one who painted it, if not for the tiny signature on the bottom left corner. He scratched absently at his moustache; it was getting long now—

 

**“Wait, moustache?” Clint cuts in.**

**“Yes, moustache.” Natasha nods sagely. “Very hipster, very artsy.”**

**Clint straightens in his seat, interest piqued. “You mean like one of those really thick, dead rodent on the top of your lip kind of moustache? Do you have a picture?”**

**“I do!” Bucky butts in, reaching for his phone.**

**“How did you even get that picture?”**

**“Nat sent me. Figured I should know the full extent of what I was getting into.” He says innocently. His fingers skate quickly across the screen. “Here you go. Steve Rogers, resident hipster.”**

**Clint crows, even as Steve says, “I was an art student!” by means of defense and Bucky patted his lap with an “I know, baby.”**

**“Oh, as if you’re one to talk, Barton,” Nat rolls her eyes. “Remember when you went back from Italy and showed up in Thor’s wedding with a goatee?”**

**“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Bucky laughs. “That was awful.”**

**“Yeah? At least I can grow facial hair,”**

**“What, you think I can’t, Birdbrain?”**

**“Children, please,” Let it be known that Peggy Carter is a wise, wise woman. Left unattended, any argument between Clint and Bucky, no matter how trivial it started, can and will escalate into stupid dares. (See: Piñata Incident 2019, New York Marathon 2020, Laser Tag Tournament 2020, and Carnival Catastrophe 2021, and countless more minor incidents besides)**

 

\--and figured that he probably did the painting when he was high. On sandwich, that is. Those sandwiches were very good, indeed.

 

Being a law student, Maria soon found herself preoccupied with books as thick as Steve’s neck—full of interesting things, of course, which was why sometimes Natasha liked to borrow those books when she had difficulty sleeping. The times when Maria wasn’t preoccupied with her studies, she’d be sleeping or with her own circle of friends, namely the people she met in her class who brought along _their_ friends from different departments, and seeing how hard she worked nobody had the heart to disturb her much needed sleep to go out and grab some drinks, which was usually when something extraordinary would happen. She did come along every five occasions or so, and they usually ended up with Natasha, Sam and Steve briefing her on the things she’d missed so she can catch the gist of the first hour of conversation (usually involving fond reminiscing of past adventures peppered with some inside jokes) more than doing extraordinary college things, and while it was good, they just sort of drifted apart.

 

Natasha would often crash at Steve and Sam’s dorm room, especially when Maria needed the light at night because Natasha doesn’t sleep easy and would wake at the slightest intrusion. Maria and Natasha would still hang out though, and Natasha would sometimes get invited to her get-togethers with the law folks.

 

**Which, as it turns out, was how Natasha and Maria got to have contacts in very high places and be the gang’s in to the new clubs frequented by the young and trendy with sizeable trust funds. And how they always manage to get the most recent gossip even before the media has their hands and microphones on them. Her circle of friends grew to be very, very important people.**

****

Sam and Natasha got along like house on fire with their infinite knowledge of pop culture references (most of which Steve has never even heard) being the very foundation of their friendship. As Sam and Natasha became friends, they decided to adopt Steve to educate him thoroughly on everything he was missing.

 

They were watching a film (the title of which Steve can’t even recall—that was twelve years ago, he’s allowed to forget the little details) where a Star Wars reference was made, which completely flew over Steve’s head but made Natasha and Sam crow loudly.

 

“What just happened?” Steve had said. Natasha and Sam exchanged a disbelieving look.

 

“You know, Star Wars?” Natasha cued. “Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, use the force?”

 

“Haven’t really seen Star Wars,” Steve shrugged. “Only know the live long and prosper bit.”

 

Sam and Natasha let out an identical groan at the exact same moment, which was kind of creepy considering that they had only known each other for a month and been close friends for shorter.

 

Sam and Natasha exchanged that look again. Steve was fully aware that a telepathic conversation just probably took place.

 

“Steve, we are adopting you.” Natasha announced. Sam nodded. “We are going to complete your education, one cult movie at a time.”

 

“We can always fit in one film during one of your free periods that coincides with our free period, like on Wednesday afternoon.”

 

“How did you know my schedule?”

 

Sam gave him a patient look. “Steve, you paste your schedule on the door. It’s color-coded. It’s bound to stick.”

 

“How are you an art student and not watch Star Wars?” Natasha mused aloud. “Ooh, did you watch those foreign, indie films that never comes out in the theatre?”

 

“No,” Steve said quickly, but he wouldn’t meet Natasha’s eyes.

 

Natasha and Sam groaned again, simultaneously.

 

“You are officially our young padawan,” Sam announced.

 

“I don’t even know what that means,” Steve sighed.

 

“That’s okay,” Natasha smiled. Really smiled, all teeth, not one of those quirked lips and eyes lighting with amusement. Steve was immediately alarmed. “We’ll work on that.”

 

This _education_ , as Sam and Natasha insisted to call it, gave birth to many more—let’s just call it adventures.

 

**“Like that time Steve got arrested while wearing a Captain America suit.”**

**“That actually wasn’t one of the adventures I was thinking of,” Steve says. “It wasn’t even related to those films you made me watch!”**

**“Steve got arrested while wearing a Captain America suit?” Tony’s voice is shrill. “You have to tell this story. Rogers, I demand you tell this story.”**

**“Rogers-Barnes, actually. We decided to hyphenate.”**

**“You’re hyphenating.” Tony wrinkles his nose. “You’re hyphenating. Oh my god, you two are sickening. And adorable too, I have to say. Mostly sickening, though.”**

**As if on cue, Pepper’s resulting eye-roll and Rhodey’s “Shut up, Tony,” happened in unison. Pepper smiles wickedly (as a lady would. Only Pepper could manage that). “What he means to say, Steve, is that you touch his heart.”**

**“Damn it, Pepper, don’t shatter the illusion!”**

**“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling the story of how you got arrested,” Sharon smirks. That woman is ruthless. “While wearing a Captain America suit, no less! Damn, Steve. Stop dodging.”**

**Steve sighs.**

**It happened in Halloween 2012…**

 

****

**THAT TIME WHEN STEVE GOT ARRESTED WHILE WEARING A CAPTAIN AMERICA SUIT**

**Halloween, 2012**

 

Steve managed to get his hands on a well-detailed, star-spangled Captain America suit, complete with its iconic round shield. Steve would insist that it was just one size too small, but Natasha convinced him otherwise, and that costume stuck to his body like a latex glove. It took a little wiggling to get into.

 

Sam whistled when he saw him. He was going as the Falcon, and he had these red goggles on and what looked like a metal backpack with wide slits on its sides, “where the wings would come out from,” according to him.

 

Natasha joined them in their flat, clad in black catsuit that clung to her body. She had guns strapped on her utility belt. Steve wasn’t sure if those were fake, to be honest. He still wasn’t sure what she really did for a living, only that she was doing well enough to afford several pairs of Louboutins and other designer shoes that cost as much as he made in two months.

 

“Looking good, boys,” She gave them an appreciative look. “The place is just five blocks from here, we can walk there.”

 

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Everybody had drinks in their hands, and it wasn’t long until Steve got his hands on some and proceeded to get thoroughly, embarrassingly drunk.

 

It usually took a lot for Steve to get drunk. Steve suspected that the drink was very strong, seeing as he only had three and his speech was beginning to slur.

 

Steve only got very drunk three times before that Sam and Natasha witnessed and knew of, all throughout college.

 

Naturally, the only course of action Sam and Natasha took that night was to ply him with more drinks, as true friends were supposed to do.

 

Of course, the side effect of consuming that amount of alcohol was a full bladder, and Steve had the misfortune to experience this _after_ he left the party. He was pretty sure Sam and Nat would be going home with someone else—he lost sight of them about an hour into the party.

 

“Think I’m going home,” He said to his companion, who he had been talking with for the past fifteen minutes. He wasn’t sure what his companion was supposed to be—he looked attractive with long, dark hair framing his face. He got the broody thing going on. Nobody should look that good with eyes smeared with smudged black eyeliner—

 

“This is not eyeliner,” His companion insisted with an air of someone who had had to repeat it several times. Shit, did Steve say the part where he thought the man looked good out loud? “Yeah, buddy.” His companion laughed, though it came out muffled by the muzzle fitted over his mouth. “This is black camouflage war paint.” There was something indignant in his tone, which made Steve laugh.

 

“Sure thing, pal,”

 

Fine, then, black camouflage war paint it was—

 

“Thanks,” His companion laughed. It was a beautiful sound. The paint around his eyes made him look like he’d been punched in the face. Steve wondered briefly if his companion was okay, if he just picked a fight with somebody, if he was hurting. He wore an all-black leather ensemble, with what looked like a Kevlar vest, complete with black leather gloves and was shaking his head with mirth. Actually, he looked like some sort of BDSM master—

 

“You’re the first to say that, actually,” The man chuckled. “If you’re going home, I should probably hail you a cab. You’re really, _really_ drunk, buddy.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve waved a lazy hand even though his vision was swimming. Was there any cab this late into the night? “My apat—uh, apatre—“ What was the word again? His companion laughed again, that full, throaty laugh that Steve liked to hear so much. “My place, that is. It’s just some blocks from here.”

 

“I’ll walk with you,” His companion said. “Make sure there’s no super-villain to knock you out, yeah?”

 

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” He held up both arms. He thought they were pretty steady.

 

“Suit yourself,” His companion shrugged. “Here, I’ll give you my number. In case you got half-dead in a ditch.” He took out a pen from somewhere and scribbled his number on a napkin. Steve carefully folded the napkin and put it in his pocket before waving goodbye and making his way out.

 

Steve managed to walk one and a half of those five blocks before his bladder started screaming. He wasn't sure what possessed him not to go to the toilet _before_ walking home, but he guessed his companion probably had something to do with that. Steve was only human, after all. He could forget things, especially when there was a cute guy in the equation. Actually, Steve wasn't sure if the guy he had been talking to was cute, since the bottom half of his face was covered by a muzzle and his eyes obscured by  _black camouflage war paint_ (Steve mentally snorted. It was eyeliner), but the guy was built. And very nice to talk to. Distracting enough that Steve managed to forget going to the toilet before walking home. He looked desperately for any place with toilets, but everything was already closed at this hour. He vaguely recalled a 24-hour diner with a toilet, but it was a short walk from the flat in the other direction.

 

He managed to suffer further for another half a block before passing by a dark alley. He briefly contemplated running the three blocks, but he was already sweating and clearly not thinking straight. Before he could think of other alternatives, he quickly snuck into the alley.

 

That suit really was a struggle to get out of—he literally had to peel it away. He shimmied for about two minutes before he could get some relief. Just as he was pulling his suit back on, he could hear sirens behind him—and though he thought about the merits of just dropping to the floor and feign unconsciousness, he wasn’t so drunk anymore that he knew he should do the right thing and _face the sirens._

 

(He completely forgot about the napkin he stuffed into his pocket. Getting arrested and having to call Natasha to bail him out can do that to you. He returned the suit two days after, complete with the phone number in the pocket.)

 

**Natasha snickered. They never did let him forget about that day.**

 

* * *

 

 

**Summer 2014**

 

After Steve graduated from college, he was at loose ends. It wasn’t easy to find a job in a big city like New York where everybody and their cousin would also be looking for a job, high with hope, especially when you’re fresh out of college with minimum work experience and so he took up odd jobs to make ends meet.

 

He wasn’t sure how he landed a job as a kindergarten teacher. He loved children—wanted to have tiny little Rogers running around the house with a dog he would name Daisy, and he loved that he got to get home early enough that he still had time to work on some artwork (and to get to the pub on Fridays for weekly nights out with Sam and Natasha).

 

Natasha lived further away now so she could be closer to her office, which was why their weekly night out was regarded with importance—they barely see her any other time, except on some odd weekends. He shared his flat with Sam, who was working on his psych internship program down in the VA hospital.

 

Their little tight-knit group grew one day in Autumn 2014.


	2. How Steve Rogers Met Peggy Carter's Dog, and then Peggy Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Steve met Peggy. 
> 
> Featuring: dogs, a spilled cup of coffee, a Howling Commando, an internal debate about various types of plants and some touristy behaviour.

**September 2014**

 

Prospect Park was just a short walk from Sam and Steve’s apartment where they would go running on Tuesdays. Steve went running there without Sam on Thursdays, but Steve would go there in the mornings, just before he went to the kindergarten, mostly to watch people with a cup of coffee and his sketchbook to keep him company.

 

The lighting was wonderful in the morning, when the sun was just starting to rise and peek from behind the buildings across his favorite bench in the park. He didn’t have a dog, but he liked to watch people interact with their pets. The park came to life on weekend mornings.

 

Steve came to the park later that morning, when the sun was already up and beaming and already casting golden rays. The park was fuller than usual, with more people running with their unleashed dog running close to their heels, kids and their parents throwing sticks and branches and tennis balls for their dogs to catch.

 

The day was windier, too, but no less bright. He was just strolling, with a cup of steaming coffee in hand, when he took a scalding sip and something rigid hit him in the back. Hard.

 

Steve choked, mouth burning, and swayed forward, spilling some of his coffee down his hand and sending some splattered on the ground. He heard rapid footsteps behind him and something knocking his legs, but this time it was something shorter and furrier.

 

“Sorry!” He heard somebody say as they ran towards him. “Sorry!”

 

Steve turned around to see a woman running towards him with a worried expression about her face. His face was turning red, too, no doubt, from all the coughing. That coffee was _really_ hot.

 

“Hey, no, that’s okay,” He said with a watery smile after the coughing subsided, even though his tongue was positively scalding. He swiped a hand over his mouth to wipe the coffee drips from around his mouth. He crouched to where a red and white corgi was sniffing around his ankle with a Frisbee between his jaws and gingerly scratched the dog’s head. “He yours?”

 

“Yes,” The woman said. She was beautiful, with her sleek brown hair curling gently around her face and bright red lipstick. Her voice was light and accented. “I’m not sure what came over me, I usually have good aim,”

 

“It’s a windy day today,” Steve commented, looking up. “What’s his name?”

 

“Jarvis,” The woman said. She smiled, rolling her eyes. “I know, bad name for a dog. Not my decision. Friend of mine called him Jarvis and he wouldn’t answer to anything else since.” She joined Steve in his crouch. “What’s yours?”

 

She’s _smooth._ Steve looked up from where he was focusing on the dog (and definitely not the woman’s eyes). “Steve Rogers.”

 

“Well, Steve, how about I get you another cup of coffee to replace the one I made you spill?” She offered a hand, which Steve shook. She had a nice grip. “I’m Peggy Carter.”

 

Steve could just hear Sam’s voice cheering in his head. “Gotta finish this one first, though.” He replied, then immediately kicked himself mentally. 22 years old and still had no idea how to talk to a beautiful woman. “I mean, not that I’m averse to another cup, that is.”

 

Peggy straightened, a small smile still playing on her lips. Honestly, Steve is so fucked. “How about I just give you my number then, for when you finish your coffee?”

 

“How about dinner?” Steve blurted, as he, too, stood. He gave himself another mental kick.

 

“Sure, when are you free?”

 

“Tonight?” He probably sounded too eager. Something was probably wrong with his mouth that day, because he kept saying things before thinking it through. “If you don’t have other plans, that is. I don’t. Do you?”

 

Peggy laughed, a clear, bright sound. “You don’t really know how to talk to women, do you,” She said, not unkindly. “Sure, I can do tonight. How does French food sound to you?”

 

“Good! There’s a good place I know in 6th avenue. We can go there if you’d like?”

  
“Oh yes, I’ve heard great words about the place.”

 

“I can pick you up at around eight?”

 

“Brilliant. I’ll text you my address.” She looked pleased. “Well then, Steve. It’s a date,”

 

* * *

 

 

It was not until 5 pm that day that Steve remembered that he hadn’t given his number to Peggy, so there was no way Peggy could text Steve her address.

 

_Hi Peggy, it’s Steve. I forgot to give you my number, sorry._

The reply came in five minutes later. _Hi, Steve,_ it reads, _I was just berating myself for not asking for your number._

Peggy’s address wasn’t far from Steve’s own apartment and it was rather close to Steve’s kindergarten. The restaurant slotted neatly between Steve’s apartment and Peggy’s, a little place he sometimes frequented. The place was nice—almost nondescript from the outside but the interior was bordering on lavish with the white tablecloths, intricate shapes on the wall and the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling that casted a warm golden glow. Steve personally knew the guy who owned the place—Jacques Dernier, one of his buddies (aside from Sam and Natasha) he had in university.

 

Jacques cooked. He was really good at it, too. Steve and his drinking buddies (nobody knew who initially came up with the name Howling Commandoes, but it just stuck) would pitch in money for Jacques to buy ingredients with and he’d cook for them. It was a neat arrangement that worked out for all parties involved. His dishes were always met with hearty appreciation, and perhaps that was what pushed him to open up his own place.

 

Upon finding out where the other lived, they decided that meeting in the middle would be the best arrangement, since it was smack dab in the middle of the two apartments. It would save time, Peggy had told him. And also fuel.

 

Steve decided not to be a creep and find Peggy Carter on various social medias. Call him old-fashioned, but what was the point of going on a date if you can learn everything you want to know about your date just by clicking on a few links? Where was the fun in knowing everything about a person without knowing the person?

 

Natasha would beg to differ.

 

“Steve, she could be a serial killer.”

 

“Peggy is not a serial killer.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Wait, how did you know about Peggy?”

 

“Sam called and said you had trouble deciding which shade of blue would complement your eyes between,” Natasha pitched her voice lower. “ _Cornflower, navy or royal blue?_ ”

 

Steve covered the microphone of his phone before yelling, “Damn it, Sam!”

 

“Love you too, man!”

 

“You wouldn’t know if she was a serial killer or not. What’s the harm in a quick Google?”

 

“I’m not going to Google her.”

 

There was a short pause. “I will.”

 

“Just don’t tell me what you find, I don’t want to know.”

 

“It says here, Peggy Carter—“

 

“No, Nat!” Steve pulled his phone a good distance away from his ear as Natasha read aloud whatever she found on Google. He raised his voice without bringing his phone any closer. “I’m hanging up. Don’t tell me anything unless she’s really a serial killer. Which I’m pretty sure she’s not.”

 

Natasha came over after Steve made her swear not to say anything she found online, though obviously she had no qualms about sharing the information with Sam and spending half the time in Steve’s apartment sharing knowing smirks and looks with Sam that drove Steve right up the wall.

 

Since Sam was little help with the outfit Steve was going to wear to his date, telling him that everything looked great on him, just don’t wear cargo pants and sandals, Natasha came and proceeded to take over over and wrangle Steve out of the pile of clothes he took out of the closet. She and Sam had a little argument about which shirt would bring out Steve’s eyes best and which pair of pants would showcase his other assets before deciding on a navy sweatshirt layered over a collared shirt and khaki pants.

 

Steve ended up showing up in front of the restaurant a good thirty minutes before the appointed time because he hated being late. He hadn’t been on a date for since the third year of college. He didn’t check his phone every two minutes, and maybe he was the slightest bit nervous, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and shuffling slowly. Jacques came out to greet him earlier, before coming back in because at this time of day, business was far from slow. While the place was small, almost every table was booked, and Steve was grateful to get the best seat in the house.

 

Peggy came not ten minutes later in a red dress that made Steve’s jaw drop.

 

“Hi,” Peggy greeted cheerily. “You’re early.”

 

“So are you,”

 

“I hate being late.”

 

“That’s something we have in common.” Steve grinned. “Shall we go in, then?”

 

* * *

 

 

**We’re meeting in the bar in 10.**

how was ur date????

**Told you she’s not a serial killer.**

_I know I googled_

yeah nat said

_did it go well? ;)_

**I’ll tell you all about it.**

_don’t skimp on the details I wanna know everything_

YOU BETTER

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve stepped into the bar, the pitcher of beer on Sam and Natasha’s table was already half empty. Sam and Natasha beckoned him over immediately.

 

“So,” Natasha put her glass down after taking a swig. “How did it go?”

 

“Still alive and whole.” Steve pointed out, gesturing at his body. “Definitely not a serial killer.”

 

“Okay, Rogers,” Sam said. “Spill.”

 

“How did I describe my ideal partner?”

 

“Rogers, you don’t have any description for an ‘ideal partner’. You’ll give everyone nice enough a chance.”

 

“Yes, but. You know.”

 

“Okay. They like dogs.”

 

“I met Peggy’s dog before I met her, so that part’s covered.”

 

“They don’t mind having quiet nights in rather than wild nights out. So you can be all gross and couple-y.”

 

_Peggy swirls her wine with a thoughtful look. “Sometimes I feel like curling up with my dogs and watch Netflix makes for a better night than going to rowdy parties, you know?”_

 

Natasha’s eyes began to light up with interest, a small smile playing on her lips. “They bake. Like your ma used to.”

 

_“I own a bakery,” Peggy said. “That bakery slash café downstairs? That’s mine and my best friend Angie’s.”_

_“My ma used to bake. Made the meanest apple pie in the neighborhood.” Steve smiled fondly at the memory. His childhood was filled with the sweet aroma of various pies and biscuits between wheezes for air and fistfights. His ma was a great woman. “I’m not very good at baking myself, to be honest. They either burn or stay raw, or not rise in the oven.”_

_“You can come over. I’ll show you how it’s done.”_

_“That’d be great, Peggy.”_

 

**_“He’s hopeless.” Peggy ruffles Steve’s hair. “You can never leave this one with an oven without adult supervision.”_ **

****

**_“I resent that,” Steve protests._ **

****

**_“You made a casserole one time, it doesn’t really count. Remember when everyone had to vacate the building because you set your oven on fire trying to bake a birthday cake?”_ **

****

**_Tony claps his hands gleefully. “Christ, this night keeps getting better and better.”_ **

Sam ooh-ed. “Shit, man, she’s _perfect.”_

 

Steve couldn’t contain his excitement. “I know.”

 

“So when are we going to meet her?”

“We’ve been to _one date,_ Nat _._ ”

 

**_“One that turned into many more dates, I could tell even then.” Natasha smirked._ **

****

**_“Thanks, Nat.”_ **

****

Steve didn’t kiss Peggy that night after he walked her home. He did get a second date, though.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s second date with Peggy was a quick lunch in a nearby café during her break. It was a Tuesday, and kindergarten was dismissed early because a kid with chicken pox that hadn’t healed entirely showed up to school, and they’d rather be safe than ending up with an entire class absent from chicken pox.

 

Angie, who shared ownership of the bakery slash café with Peggy, was a sweet woman with light brown bouncy curls and ready smile. She had obviously heard about Steve and leered at him appreciatively the moment he stepped into the bakery slash café, saying a “well, well,” while unabashedly checking him out, and willing enough to cover for Peggy.

 

“Nice one, English,” She had said as Peggy untied her apron and left with Steve. Peggy had pointedly rolled her eyes at Angie.

 

Here’s what Peggy didn’t know: Steve had spent 20 minutes in front of a florist on his way to the bakery agonizing over which flower to bring her—should he bring her a single flower or a bouquet? Did she like orchids? Would she be too busy to care for potted plants and should he stick with cacti?

 

He ended up getting her some small potted plant with tiny white-purple flowers so she could put it on the windowsill of the bakery or something, and the florist assured him that it wouldn’t be too fussy to take care of.

 

“Here,” He said bashfully, handing her the potted plant and following her like a lost puppy as she maneuvered expertly between tables and placed the plant on the windowsill.

 

“Best seat in the house,” She said as she put the plant. “Spot of honor.”

 

Angie watched them both with goo-goo eyes, making a dreamy sigh every five minutes or so.

 

It was a bright, breezy day when they stepped out and Steve held Peggy’s hand the entire five-minute walk to the cafe. Steve tried not to look like a maniac and smile too wide, but it was hard when Peggy’s hand fitted perfectly with his and the sun glinted in her hair just so. She emanated that same sweet smell the bakery smelled of and something flowery and distinctly Peggy.

 

They sat outside under a wide sun umbrella and chatted lightly while watching people walk by and guessing their backstory. Steve’s cup of coffee laid cooling and forgotten as they giggled over their made up stories like little kids, because Steve learned his lesson when Peggy made him choke on his coffee from laughing.

 

When he dropped her back on the bakery, they were beaming brightly. This time, he kissed her without hesitating, and Peggy smiled into his mouth.

 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Steve sighed softly into the kiss without even realizing the words spilling from his mouth. As his eyes widened in realization, he was struck by how true it was.

 

Peggy pulled away, her smile giving way to an expression of shock. **“** _What?”_

“I’m not here,” Angie said with wide eyes. Steve completely forgot she was there, on the counter. It was fortunate—

 

**_Peggy coughs politely_ ** **.**

\--well, fortunate for _Steve,_ that was, since there was no customer to hear the drama break out in the bakery.

 

“Or you’re not. Here, go to the back room. I’ll stay here in case there are customers.” With that, she pulled Steve and Peggy and shoved them unceremoniously into the door that said SUPPLY ROOM.

 

“I apologize, that didn’t come out right.” Peggy gave him a rueful smile. “It’s so soon.”

 

“I know, it’s just—“ Steve gestured wildly. He had only known Peggy for two weeks and he had never felt so sure about someone. Time spent with Peggy made the highlight of his week. “You don’t have to say it back.”

 

Peggy was looking at him with kind understanding in her eyes, and Steve was a little relieved to see that at least it wasn’t pity. “Oh, Steve.”

 

Someone knocked on the door. “Pegs, it’s the broody guy again,” Angie piped from behind the door.

 

“Yes, I packed his order already, it’s under the counter,”

 

“Thanks, Pegs,”

 

“Broody guy?” Steve lifted an eyebrow, just as the Broody Guy said loudly, “Thanks, Dollface!”

 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s a perfectly fine, non-broody guy. His name’s James, but Angie’s just been calling him that because he had the saddest puppy dog eyes you will ever see when he first came in, he’s a bit of a regular.” She waved a hand before turning serious again. “Steve—“

 

“No, I mean it, it’s fine, I know it’s too soon, and—“

 

Peggy kissed him. “You’re a swell guy, Steve,” She said, and Steve’s heart sank. There was a small furrow between her brows that Steve itched to smooth away. “It’s just—I don’t know you well enough to say it back, okay? Maybe if we go a little slower? I want to know you better.”

 

“Yes,” Steve hurried to say, mentally cursing himself for saying the stupidest thing when they’d only been to _two dates_. He definitely did not want to scare Peggy. “I mean I’d love to get to know you.”

 

They went at a slightly slower pace after that, keeping it casual. In the meantime, Steve had gone all around Brooklyn with Peggy, who was new to the city and not yet settled, rediscovering his favorite parts about New York and acting like total tourists with her.

 

**_“Aww, I saw the pictures, this one is cute,” Angie interjects._ **

****

**_To be honest, Steve wasn’t actually going to expound on this one, so here’s the shorter version of everything that happened:_ **

 

 

**HOW STEVE ROGERS BECAME ONE OF THE MANY THINGS HE IMMENSELY DISLIKES: A TOURIST, IN HIS OWN HOMETOWN**

**October 2014**

 

“You know, I’m rather new to this city,” Peggy said. It was a weekend, and the day was slightly chilly, though it didn’t stop either of them from getting an ice cream from a passing van. The chocolate ice cream in Peggy’s hand had her undivided attention.

 

“I can show you around,” Steve offered immediately. He was from Brooklyn, born and bred; he knew its snaking streets like the veins on the back of his hand. He knew where every other alley went, and he prided himself on never getting lost in his own city.

 

**_“Remind us to tell you later about that time he actually got lost,” Natasha says. “It was earth-shattering.”_ **

****

**_Tony looks like Christmas came early._ **

****

“Are you busy today?” Peggy replied, ever so straightforward. Her bakery closed every Friday and every other Sunday.

 

It was one of those dates in which they hadn’t really planned on doing anything, just walking out and enjoying the sun while its warmth still lingered, not yet swallowed by the approaching winter with each other as company. And Steve really liked the company.

 

“I don’t have anything, actually,” He answered. Natasha was off to Eastern Europe for work for two weeks and Sam’s relatives were coming to visit, so he’d be with them the entire day. “Where do you want to start?”

 

Steve didn’t hate tourists, but he immensely disliked the way they would just stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures and block the way for everybody else, how loud and boisterous they were.

 

That day, though, he was willing to swallow his pride and act like one of them.

 

“Would you like to go to Manhattan as well for the complete New York experience?”

 

“Just Brooklyn is fine, I think,”

 

“We’re going to need my bike for this.”

 

So he took Peggy to his place to get his bike and a spare helmet.

 

“Have you been on one of these before?”

 

“No,”

 

“Hold tight,” Steve said over the roaring of the bike coming to life under him by way of warning. Peggy tightened her arms around him, her front pressing up against Steve’s back and Steve tried to focus on the road in front of him.

 

They ventured to where the tourists flock to, drive past the Bridge and through the trendiest neighborhood. Occasionally, Steve would take out his phone to snap quick pictures of the sights, of the buildings and landscape and _Peggy_ , bright and lovely under the autumn sun.

 

While Steve had been in Brooklyn his entire life, his ma was not, and she had read up all the histories and the legends before moving to New York. She retold them to Steve for bedtime stories, and Steve loved them.

 

He parked his bike and walked Peggy through the most beautiful brownstones and told her the history his ma once told him. He rattled off, reciting the words from memory, not even realizing that some of the tourists had stopped to listen to him.

 

Steve flustered when he realizes, and Peggy smiled at him with this look in her eyes that sent his heart fluttering.

 

Steve took Peggy to Brooklyn Heights Promenade afterwards, when daylight was just receding. New York was never short on tourists, and it seemed that in that moment every one of them was in the Promenade. The sun was beginning to sink behind the Manhattan skyline, painting the sky in vivid oranges and reds, and Steve had forgotten just how breathtaking it was.

 

“Haven’t been here for a long time,” He said. His ma took him here when he was a child, still tiny and sickly and his ma thought the fresh air would do him good. She had bundled him up in layers of clothing, scarves and coats and long johns that hung off his frame, but the wind managed to get past every single layer and go to his bones. Even though he was down with flu the next day, he had the best time that day. His ma didn’t get many day offs between her shifts in the hospital and other odd jobs she picked up.

 

“I had a great time today, Steve,” Peggy said. She was looking at Steve, and the sunset casted this golden glow on her face.

 

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

**November 2014**

 

Natasha and Sam were getting insufferable and when Steve finally gave in to their incessant nagging, he and Peggy had been dating for two months.

 

When Steve inquired if Sam and Natasha were free the following weekend to meet up with Peggy and her friends, both Sam and Natasha both cheered and each popped open a bottle of beer to celebrate, because they were all adults in their early twenties looking for any reason to drink.

 

“Please don’t intimidate her this time,” Steve beseeched, looking pointedly at Natasha who was casually leaning on the counter with the bottle of beer between her lips. “This is important to me, try not to scare her away.”

 

“When have I ever?” She said innocently.

 

Sam snorted.

 

“There was that time with Lorraine…”

 

“Connie…”

 

“Arnim…”

 

“Jess…” Steve checked off with his fingers. “Although you could’ve said that _you_ wanted her for you.”

 

Sam laughed. “That was kind of mean, Nat,”

 

Natasha ignored Steve’s indignant “ _kind of_?” and said, “Arnim was a creepy fucker, wasn’t he? I was doing you a favor.”

 

“I could’ve arrived at the same conclusion myself,”

 

“What kind of friend would that make me?”

 

Steve sputtered for an acceptable answer while Natasha shrugged carelessly with a smug look on her face.

 

“Fine.” She sighed with an air of somebody who had to make a great sacrifice. “I won’t interrogate her unless the situation calls for it.”

 

“From what we’ve been hearing about her, I don’t think we’ll have to protect little Steve from her.” Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Our little boy’s all grown up, Nat.”

 

“Hold on, let me get my camera, I want to preserve this moment.”

 

Natasha returned from the living room with an instant camera in hand. She slung an arm around Steve from his left and Sam did the same from his right and snapped a quick picture, and wrote “Steve is a big boy now!” on the white bar under the photo with a black marker.

 

**_“She took the picture to the photo wall we had in our apartment and stuck it there.” Steve gestures vaguely to the general direction of the wall in the apartment almost completely covered with pictures. That particular picture is still here up to this day._ **

****

All things considering, that night ended well. His group of friends mingled nicely with Peggy’s group even though Steve could not really see both groups truly integrating and becoming one large group in the near future.

 

“Edwin’s sorry he couldn’t make it,” Daniel Sousa said as he slid down the seat. He was the sensible one of the bunch, a war vet turned psychologist. What he didn’t divulge about his time in the battlefront, the group was tactful enough not to ask. Sam immediately took to him like duck to water and the two spent the night thick as thieves chatting about psychology related—stuff. Sam was overjoyed to have someone to psychobabble to, who actually understood what he was talking about instead of nodding along with eyes glazed over. He worked in the VA, same with Sam, except that they haven’t stumbled upon the other in all the time they had been working there. This was soon about to change.

 

Steve had met Angie Martinelli previously when he walked into the bakery, and that night they learned that Angie were Peggy’s best friend since baking school. She was a cheerful, bubbly kind of woman, with grins that came easy and the sense of humor that Steve never really got but had _Natasha_ , of all people, in absolute stitches.

 

Colleen was a timid one, slightly quiet but Peggy told him that she had a wicked sense of humor when you got to know her. That night didn’t really coax her out of her shell, but Peggy assured him that it was not his fault or anything. Peggy had been her roommate in baking school, much like Sam and Steve, and two months went before she was cracking jokes and really talking to her.

 

Daniel caught up with Steve when he was on his way to the bar to get another round with everybody.

 

“Sam said you wouldn’t hurt a fly, but what’s the harm in staying on the safe side, right?”

 

Steve had an idea of where this conversation was going.

 

“Now, I’m not saying that Peggy can’t take care of herself, she definitely can, you have to hear that time she whacked a mugger in the face with her handbag and pinned him to the wall with her shoe before knocking him out cold.” Daniel paused for breath. “But if you hurt her, I _will_ hurt you. Don’t think I can’t just because I’m in a wheelchair.”

 

Despite Natasha’s assurances otherwise, she managed to subtly insert some questions into otherwise normal conversations, but Steve never caught on until Peggy answered each question and responded to any implications with ease. Peggy seemed to notice Natasha’s attempt to coax information about her past and her present even as the words left Natasha’s mouth and didn’t mind it one bit.

 

“It’s sweet that she’s looking out for you, Steve.” She had said when the night was over, when Steve apologized for Natasha’s interrogation, toned down though it was. “You did warn me. I came prepared.”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 2014**

 

 _“Peggy, this is Natasha,”_ Her voice was calm, but it was the kind of calm that bespoke of well-contained panic. _“Steve’s been in an accident.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> конечно-naturally  
> thanks for letting me share! 
> 
> any mistakes are my own.  
> let me know what you think in the comments!


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